Barely There
by Marionette
Summary: Giant squids should always be kept properly fed, for they are known to eat just about anything if they get hungry. Draco learns this the hard way. Fifth Chapter! Please RR.
1. Hogwarts, a History

On page 578 of Hogwarts: A History, there was a brief explanation of the existence of the giant squid that resided in the lake on Hogwarts' grounds.  
  
Helga Hufflepuff, one of the four founders, had had a deep affection for animals. She'd kept many pets before making the permanent move into Hogwarts, which had forced nearly all of them away from her. She'd lamented for days at the loss of her beloved Kneazle, and mourned the separation from her fourteen dogs. She missed her birds, and she even talked of a pig. The three other founders, who were far from animal- people, had allowed her to keep only two of her numerous pets. Those two were a badger, hence the symbol of her house, and her squid, Ollie.  
  
She'd kept her badger in a cage in her room, and brought Ollie out to the magically made lake, which had been added to the landscape especially on Helga's request. Since the lake was created by a spell, its waters retained some of the magic that had been used to make it. This magic caused a great many great changes to Ollie. While he had once been a rather small squid, every time Helga went to visit him, he seemed a bit bigger than before.  
  
Soon, he was giant.  
  
There were many problems with having a giant squid on a property where there were a lot of curious school children. Though Ollie had always been practically harmless before, his appetite had grown with him, and now he wanted more than simply a few slivers of meat in the morning and before bedtime. It became apparent that taking care of Ollie was not going to be an easy task.  
  
Before the year was up, two children, both Gryffindors, had been eaten. When the students were sent home for the summer, the four founders were stunned to find a notice from the newly-formed Ministry of Magic that they were required to either find a peaceful way to keep Ollie, or dispose of him.  
  
Helga vehemently protested any harm going toward her beloved giant squid, and surprisingly, it was Salazar Slytherin who offered the solution that satisfied everyone. A Game Keeper would be added to Hogwarts' list of employees. The Game Keeper would not only make it easier to take care of the grounds, but they would make sure that Ollie was always well fed.  
  
They'd sent this solution to the Ministy, which accepted it. Soon after, a young man named Gallion [1] was appointed as Game Keeper of Hogwarts. The following year the grounds were neat and beautiful, and there were no accidents. Gallion never missed a day throughout his many years as Game Keeper. When it came to the point where a new person was hired, they were just as attentive. In fact, for several hundred years, not a Game Keeper missed a day.  
  
However, none of them had ever been given jobs as teachers before.  
  
Rubeus Hagrid sometimes felt as though he'd bitten off more than he could chew. He loved Hogwarts; it'd been his home and shelter for so many long years that he could imagine living nowhere but at the large castle. He'd kept its grounds looking pristine for decades before he was given a second job as the Care of Magical Creatures Professor.  
  
For awhile, juggling the two jobs wasn't that difficult. He would teach classes, then use the evening to feed the Giant Squid (which was now one of Ollie's descendents) and take care of the grounds. But every now and then a slip up happened. Unfortunately, this certain slip up concerned the Giant Squid in the lake.  
  
He'd been under quite a bit of stress. Between going on errands for the Order, keeping the grounds spotless, making lessons plans and teaching, Hagrid was having trouble remembering every little thing that had to be done during the day. This particular day he forgot to feed the Squid.  
  
And the Squid was mighty, mighty hungry.  
  
Hagrid didn't realize his mistake until late in the afternoon the next day. He'd rushed out and given the Giant Squid an extra large meal, only to find that the lake's occupant seemed contented, and had no need for all of the food that Hagrid had taken to the time to bring him. Perplexed, Hagrid had returned to his cabin.  
  
Afraid of being fired, he had told no one of his little mistake. He'd had far too much trouble throughout his years at Hogwarts, what with the business with Malfoy and Buckbeak in Harry's third year, and that dreadful Umbridge woman. It wasn't that Dumbledore would fire him willingly, but he'd made so many mistakes throughout his career. . . This one was so tiny; it was very unlikely that anyone would notice.  
  
But someone did.  
  
--  
  
Draco Malfoy had been missing for two and a half weeks.  
  
No one had any idea where the seventh-year could have possibly gone. From what had been pieced together, he'd been studying in his room for the Potions test that was being given the next day. His roommates, Crabbe and Goyle, reported that he'd said he was going to go take a walk around the grounds. They hadn't seen him since.  
  
Many Slytherins confirmed seeing him exit the common room, and a third year Hufflepuff reported that she'd seen him walk out onto the grounds at around five o clock. She said he'd looked as though he was carrying something slung over his forearm, but she was too far away to tell what it was, precisely.  
  
No one had seen neither hide nor hair of him from that moment on.  
  
The Forbidden Forest had been searched on four separate occasions, two of them being a demand from the Malfoy family. They had scoured the lake and all the used and unused classrooms around the school. The Malfoys were in an uproar; of course, they found that the entire situation was Dumbledore's fault. There was talk in the hall that they were threatening to sue.  
  
Snape had cancelled the test that all the seventh years had been about to take (much to the relief of many). He also seemed a bit out of his element. His voice lacked its usual venom, and his remarks no longer held their sharp, bitter sarcasm. Lessons, which had usually consisted of him berating them for being disgraces to the prestigious name of 'wizard', were quiet. He even forgot to take points away from Gryffindor on several occasions. When Neville Longbottom had spilled an entire cauldron of the shrinking potion onto Lavender Brown (which made some boys very happy), Snape hadn't even uttered a word.  
  
Pansy Parkinson, who'd barely been tolerable in the first place, became unbearably annoying. She carried a handkerchief with the initials "D.M." emblazoned on the corner, and constantly cried into it. Her whimpers could be heard twenty-four hours a day. It got to the point where McGonagall had ordered her out of class until she could control herself. Pansy had been greatly offended by McGonagall's statement, saying that she was mourning the loss of her beloved boyfriend. It was so aggravating that even Harry Potter was heard to say that he would have liked Malfoy to come back, just to stop Pansy's whining.  
  
Quite honestly, life without Malfoy was beginning to wear upon those in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The unknown circumstances surrounding his disappearance caused many people to wonder, were they next?  
  
--  
  
During his lifetime, Draco Malfoy had never been known to be a patient person.  
  
When a house elf did not perform up to the standard that he wanted and promptly, he had them beaten. If someone walked slowly in front of him in a hallway, he pushed them roughly out of the way. He did not enjoy the company of someone who went leisurely about their actions. His motto was that you got it done and you did it as quickly as possible, or he found a way to make you do so.  
  
So he was quite offended when he'd appeared at the strange building of which he was now seated and was told to take a number.  
  
First, he'd had to wait in line for a number. All the while he kept wondering where he was; he'd never seen or heard of the building before. When he'd arrived at the front of the line, he'd snatched a number and asked the woman at the desk what the office was called. She'd raised an eyebrow at him and ushered him away, claiming that he had been holding up the line. He'd sat down in the very spacious waiting room, wondering how long this was going to take. At that point, he had not yet glanced at his number. He was far too preoccupied with viewing the many people who were strewn about the room, sitting in couches like him.  
  
There was a woman across from him who was holding her head in her palm as she skimmed a magazine. Draco found he couldn't look at her too long without beginning to stare at her neck. It was far too gruesome. The man next to him had an arrow protruding from his back, and looked insanely uncomfortable no matter which way he attempted to sit. He kept grimacing with pain as the arrow brushed the couch.  
  
Needless to say, Draco was quite confused.  
  
It was about this time he gave his number a quick once over. His eyes bulged as he realized how long he would have to wait; it had to be a mistake. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of a sign that said which number they were currently on. He leaned back into the couch, staring at number in his hand, then back to the counter on the wall.  
  
The counter said "15".  
  
His number was "1,342".  
  
Obviously, it was a very long time before he got his turn.  
  
After a week of waiting (which only made his mood fouler as he considered all the classes he'd missed), the counter ticked to display his number. He stood and made his way to a door where he had seen many people enter, yet no one exit. That thought caused Draco quite a bit of discomfort, as he considered what could have possibly happened to those people.  
  
The room he entered was small and painted a dark brown. A desk sat in the middle of the room, and a tired looking man sat behind the desk. It was kept immaculate; the only things on the desks at the moment were a paper and pen. A single chair was placed in front of the desk, which Draco assumed was for him. He sat and looked at the man expectantly.  
  
"So, I guess you know why you're here?" the man stated in a voice that made it sound like more of a fact than question. His eyes scanned the paper, which Draco noticed for the first time, had his name on it.  
  
"Not . . .really." he replied, feeling a bit stupid. He supposed he was expected to know, but he was all out of guesses.  
  
The man, whose nametag described him as "William", gave Draco a look that plainly said he obviously was not very bright. "How long have you been out there, son?" William questioned, playing with the pen in between his fingers. "About a week?"  
  
Draco nodded. "Something like that."  
  
"Let me ask you something, then," William glanced down at the paper, "Draco. Did you get hungry? Did you ever have to go to the bathroom?"  
  
Dumbfounded, Draco didn't answer. Those things had never occurred to him; he had been far too busy staring at the counter. And obviously, he hadn't had any hunger pains, so why would he have thought about eating? He stared straight at William, his eyes wide. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm . . .I'm . . ."  
  
"Dead? Precisely." William answered casually. He dealt with this stuff every day.  
  
"But I was fine!" Draco protested, brow furrowed. "I was absolutely fine. Perfect health and everything."  
  
Sighing, William leaned back in his chair. "It says here you died from being eaten."  
  
"Eaten?"  
  
"Yes. By a giant squid, while you were taking a swim. Apparently, someone forgot to feed it."  
  
Fire brewed in Draco's eyes. "I'll have that oaf Hagrid's job for this! I swear I will!" he slouched in his chair, his eyes narrowed at nothing. "I can't believe he made such an idiotic-"  
  
William interrupted. "Look, Draco, I don't mean to be rude. But I have four thousand other people to see. So just tell me, do you want to move on or be a ghost?"  
  
Quirking his head to the side, Draco gave William a surprised look. "You mean I get to choose?" He'd never even considered that! Why, he could go back and haunt that idiot Hagrid for the rest of his miserable days . . .  
  
"Yes, yes. You get to choose. Now, hurry. I'm in a rush."  
  
"I just found out I'm dead! Don't I get a minute?" he was not used to being treated like an average, common person. But he also supposed that his father's name, or the fact that he was-or at least, had been-a pureblood mattered little now that he was dead. He sighed, and then said, "May I ask you a question?"  
  
William shrugged. "Shoot."  
  
"Is there a Heaven and a Hell?"  
  
A nod. "Yes, of course."  
  
Draco didn't miss a beat. "I'll be a ghost."  
  
[1]-When I was little, I had very strange names picked out for my children if they happened to be boys. They were Gallion and Eon. So as a tribute to my six-year old self, I used one of the names in here, as the first Game Keeper of Hogwarts. Who knows? Maybe Eon will make an appearance later. Ha.  
  
A/N: Don't have much to say. I'm pretty proud of the idea for this one. Lemme know what you think by reviewing, please. Any and all feedback is welcome. :DDD Thanks to Aria (Elluxion-go read her fics, you won't regret it, I promise) for beta-ing amidst her heavy workload.  
  
Dislcaimer: Don't own Harry Potter or its characters. They belong to JKR. 


	2. The Malfoy Code of Conduct

Rule number one in the Malfoy Code of Conduct Handbook clearly stated that all Malfoys that were coming of age had to read said handbook from cover to cover so they would be able to handle themselves in the appropriate Malfoy fashion. Draco Malfoy in particular had been handed this book a month before he was to leave for Hogwarts for his first year. He had had explicit instructions to read and memorize the book. Draco had opened the book, but had thrown it in his closet after one page. The book had never emerged again.  
  
It wasn't his fault it was bloody boring.  
  
Yet sitting where he was now, Draco Malfoy desperately wished he had at least given it a chance. After having the rules repeated by his father and mother to him so many times, he knew a majority of them by heart. A Malfoy will not marry below him or her. A Malfoy must always live up to his or her prestigious name. Yet there were some pretty obscure ones that he'd heard as well. A Malfoy will not eat salt on Sundays, for example. He himself had broken that one every Sunday he had been in Hogwarts; it was such a silly rule, he was quite confident that no one but the Malfoys would possibly know it.  
  
Sighing, Draco cursed the Malfoy Code of Conduct Handbook. It was those silly, obscure rules that were bothering him now! Even dead, he was still a Malfoy, and wanted to maintain his aristocratic air. And though he'd never heard his father mention it, he supposed that there was every possibility that there was a rule forbidding hiding in a broom closet.  
  
Which was what he was doing at that precise moment.  
  
He'd found the broom closet in his return to Hogwarts. It had been his plan to go up to Dumbledore's office, announce his presence and explain to him why he had to fire Hagrid, post haste. Yet upon entering and floating down a random corridor, he'd nearly encountered Harry Potter. He'd been able to duck into it before Harry had noticed him, but still . . . it had been a close call. It was then that he realized that he wasn't really ready to face some of his peers in his new form. So he'd decided to hide for a little bit.  
  
Well, to cut a long story short, that "little bit" had ended up being a week.  
  
It wasn't that he was afraid. A Malfoy is never afraid, rule 436. He just didn't want to be seen yet, that was all. No fear whatsoever. Nope. None.  
  
Well, maybe just a little. But not very much. He had just grown rather attached to the closet.  
  
If he'd had the ability to drum his fingers, he would have been drumming them. Seven days cooped up in this small space was getting to him. He could tell from the lack of light shining through the crack under the door that it was nighttime. He would be safe if went out, even if it was only for a few minutes. He was going stir-crazy, and really, what would it hurt? Everyone would be asleep, most likely.  
  
Taking a deep (though quite unnecessary) breath, Draco straightened and floated through the door. Looking from left to right, he saw no one. He smiled; he had no idea why he had put up such a fuss. There was no one around, and he was free, free-  
  
He paused. Had someone just gasped?  
  
His head swung to the left, eyes narrowed intently at the long corridor. There was no one there, yet he could have sworn he'd heard something. And there, had that not been a footstep? Either someone was playing a trick on him or . . .  
  
Potter's Invisibility Cloak!  
  
That was it! It had to have been one of the dream team. The gasp had sounded uniquely feminine, which meant it had to be that Mudblood, Granger. Or the Weasel, he sniggered to himself, smirking. Knowing that if it was The Wonder Boy or one of his two most loyal followers, they'd assuredly tell someone, he called out, "I know you're there. Take off that Invisibility Cloak."  
  
There wasn't a sound. Draco rolled his eyes, and tried a different approach. "Ghosts can see through those things, you know. I can see you right now . . ." He left his voice trailing off persuasively, knowing for a fact that it wasn't true and that he hadn't the slightest idea where the person was. He could only hope that they didn't know it either.  
  
"That's not true!" came a voice from behind him, in the right hand of the hallway. Draco turned to find Hermione Granger, only halfway visible, glaring at him. "A. Ghosts can't see through invisibility cloaks. B. You were looking in the wrong direction."  
  
Nodding in agreement, Draco gave her credit. Most people would have completely freaked out and begged for mercy, yet she remained level headed. "That's true. But I got you to come out either way, didn't I?" He added sneakily, laughing as she blushed furiously and her glare became hard enough to pound nails into cement walls.  
  
"You win, Malfoy." She muttered glumly. Then, as if the information had just hit her fully, she staggered. "Blimey, Malfoy! You're . . . you're dead!"  
  
Bowing sarcastically, Malfoy returned the glare. "So kind of you to notice."  
  
"It's just . . . wow, everyone is going to be so relieved. Well, not that you're dead, you understand, but that at least we all know what happened to you for sure. What did happen to you, anyway? One day you were here and then poof! You were gone. Awfully strange, you know-" Hermione rambled on, causing Draco to look at her in bewilderment.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Granger! Slow down. You were acting insane. Let's keep our curiosity in check, shall we?" He gave her a cocky glance, "And why would I tell you anything, anyway?"  
  
Turning her nose up toward the air, Hermione pivoted and began walking away. "Fine then. Be that way, Malfoy. Now come with me, we need to see Dumbledore. Your parents have been on his case incessantly."  
  
Suddenly, Draco's pompous ways disappeared entirely. A look something akin to terror crossed his features. "D-Dumbledore?" he sputtered, looking horrified. "Why do we need to tell him?"  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
"I mean, who cares if I'm missing, really? They'll forget about me sooner or later, right? Maybe we can do the whole telling Dumbledore thing in a couple of months, or years . . . decades . . . you know, whenever."  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
"And surely no one misses me that much. I mean, it's not like I was ever especially NICE to anyone, right? I mean-"  
  
"MALFOY."  
  
At her voice, he paused, giving her the chance to interrupt. "Look, the entire school has been turned upside down looking for you at least three times that I know of. Pansy cries twenty-four hours a day. You'd think she'd be dried up by now, crying so often, but her body must retain an ungodly amount of water or something. I think even the teachers miss you! Even McGonagall, or Hagrid!" Her tirade was stopped at this point, at which Draco felt the need to interject.  
  
"Well the bloody oaf should miss me. It's all his fault, anyway. How could he-" Realizing too late that he was giving one of his most hated enemies way too much information, he closed his mouth with a firm snap. It was too late. Hermione's curiosity was piqued. She stared at him, one eyebrow raised.  
  
"Finish your sentence, Malfoy."  
  
"What sentence? I don't remember any sentence."  
  
She glared. "I'm going to Dumbledore."  
  
"Oh, that sentence." He paused, hoping against hope that Hermione had some shred of mercy within her that would allow her to let him slide by on that. Unfortunately for him, Hermione wasn't feeling particularly merciful that night. She looked at him expectantly, and he reluctantly continued. "Hedidntfeedthegiantsquidanditateme."  
  
The corners of her mouth perked up in the slightest. "Excuse me?" she asked, partly to clarify and partly to watch him squirm.  
  
He glared at her, cursing her with all his might in his head. "I said, he didn't feed the giant squid. I went for a swim, and it ate me."  
  
"It what?"  
  
"You heard me, Granger."  
  
"I think Dumbledore ought to know this . . ."  
  
"IT ATE ME!"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Then she promptly burst into giggles.  
  
He glared at her. "You may think that dying is all one big gag, but I don't find it quite so amusing. I think it's rather frightening that you do, in fact. Aren't you supposed to be a good, wholesome Gryffindor?"  
  
Biting back another peel or laughter, she sighed and made as if to wipe tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Malfoy! It's not that I find the fact that you died humorous. I just find the whole situation ironic. Great and powerful Draco Malfoy, eaten by the giant squid!" With that, she broke out into chuckles again. "It's just so . . ."  
  
" . . . stupid."  
  
"That, too. But I was thinking of something else." She shook her head and then motioned to him, "C'mon. Let's go see Dumbledore now."  
  
Mortified, Draco floated backwards, away from her. "No. I don't want to."  
  
Rolling her eyes, she advanced towards him. "Really, what's the big deal? The details of your death don't have to be released if you don't want them to. Honestly. Are you scared of getting some stupid nickname or something, like Drowning Draco?"  
  
"No, but thank you for adding to my already growing list of reasons why I definitely do not want to go see Dumbledore."  
  
At that, Hermione huffed. "This is ridiculous! Why are you avoiding this?"  
  
"Is that really any of your business, Granger? Why are you so adamant on helping me, anyway? It's not like we're friends." His tone was scathing, and he could see she was hurt.  
  
Focusing her eyes on the ground, she turned away from him. "If you really feel that way, Malfoy, then I'll gladly leave you alone. Excuse me for trying to do a nice thing for someone." Squaring her shoulders, she began to walk down the hall. He watched her leaving, shrinking, and suddenly realized that he was rather lonely. Even though he'd never had many true friends throughout his school years, he'd always had someone to keep him company. He hadn't realized how alone he truly was until he'd gotten in touch with someone. Even if it was someone he wasn't especially fond of.  
  
"Granger!" he called out, watching her form stop growing smaller. In fact, it seemed she was moving toward him once again.  
  
"What?" she growled impatiently, glaring at him once more.  
  
"I don't want to see Dumbledore. Not just yet. Please?"  
  
"What are you telling me this for?" she asked, tapping her foot.  
  
"You weren't going to tell him?" he queried hopefully, smiling a little. His mood bettered as she shook her head. Suddenly, he liked Hermione a lot more than he had one minute prior.  
  
"It's not my secret to tell," she replied wearily, "Though I still think you ought to."  
  
"I will. Eventually," he promised, and she shrugged, mumbling a "whatever" disinterestedly.  
  
"Hey, Granger?" he began again, looking quite ashamed as his eyes avoided hers.  
  
"What, Malfoy?" The more he talked the more she seemed annoyed.  
  
"Do you think that maybe you could come back tomorrow night? I'm kind of lonely." He admitted in a low voice, eyes staring directly at the ground. When he looked up, she was looking at him strangely, as if she were evaluating whether he was worth it. After a minute or two, she shrugged again.  
  
"I guess I could," she stated slowly, before amending, "As long as you promise that you'll see Dumbledore soon."  
  
He considered for a moment. Would it be so bad, being one of Hogwarts' ghosts? He would get to stay young forever, and that was a definite plus. And it was someplace familiar to him, which he liked better than his home. She'd said, also, that his cause of death wouldn't have to be released . . . he nodded.  
  
"Sure."  
  
Disclaimer: You know the drill, don't own, don't sue. Yadda yadda.  
  
A/N: I was really disappointed at the lack of interest in this story, and I almost abandoned it, yet upon re-reading the first chapter the other day, I decided I didn't really care if no one wanted to read it, because I wanted to write it. So I am. I do have a review goal for this chapter, though. Not a review demand; I'm not asking for a set number of reviews to continue. I'll continue whether or not anyone reviews. But I do have a goal. My goal is. . .  
  
More than one.  
  
Mmkay? Let's see if we can manage that. Ha. :P  
  
Happy holidays, everyone. :D 


	3. The Ins and Outs of Advanced Charms

"It clearly states in The Ins and Outs of Advanced Charms on page-" She paused in her tirade to flip open the book in her lap and quickly scan through a few pages. Upon finding the necessary information, she pointed to it, and lifted the book towards her floating companion. "-Two hundred sixty-eight that you must master the basics of wandless magic before even attempting to do an invisibility spell."  
  
Wafting over disinterestedly, her ghostly friend skimmed the page. A triumphant smirk crossed his features, causing her to frown in confusion and a growing seed of worry that somehow he'd been right. "You didn't read the rest."  
  
"The rest?" she asked, confused. Turning the book back toward her, she looked at the sentence she'd apparently not checked very well. Her heart sunk, and she knew that he was not going to give up on this for a while. "Oh . . . that."  
  
He grinned wolfishly. "What's it say, Granger?"  
  
"I hate you, Malfoy," she replied succinctly, glaring at him.  
  
"I'm pretty sure that's not what it says."  
  
Heaving a sigh, she repeated some of the book's words. "Before beginning to attempt the incredibly complex invisibility spell, one must first have a firm grasp on the basics of wandless magic." She stopped reading and glanced up, only to find him suspended above her, smirking condescendingly. Her voice became a mere mumble, "Thatisunlessyouhavealreadyaccomplishedtheappearnancechangingspell."  
  
His smirked grew only larger. "What was that, Granger? Speak up."  
  
If looks could kill, Draco Malfoy would have been dead . . . again. "That is, unless you have already accomplished the appearance changing spell, as they are both similar in difficulty."  
  
Draco tried to suppress his grin and be a gracious winner, yet it was just too much fun to watch her stew in her own juices. "Oh, gee, Granger. I guess that means I was right. Which means you were . . .?"  
  
She murmured something too softly for him to hear. He drifted forward a bit, milking his moment of victory for all that it was worth. "What was that, Granger? I couldn't quite tell what you were saying. Perhaps if you tried to speak more clearly?"  
  
"I said," she spat venomously, "that I was misinformed."  
  
He laughed, letting himself fall so that he was face to face with her. "You were wrong, Granger."  
  
She didn't join in his cheeriness. Instead, she did the least humiliating thing (for her) that could. She changed the subject. "Did you go see Dumbledore yet?"  
  
He sighed. "Will you ever stop badgering me?" His voice was exasperated. She'd asked the same question at least once every time she'd come to visit. Just because he'd promised didn't mean that he was planning on actually seeing Professor Dumbledore anytime in the near future. He'd never given her a date. Perhaps in ten years, when the whole thing had blown over . . . he imagined the publicity a stunt like that would pull. It made him smile.  
  
Huffing, she picked up the bag she'd discarded once she'd arrived for her nightly visitation. Carelessly dropping The Ins and Outs of Advanced Charms into it, she place the strap around her shoulder. Malfoy furrowed his brow and asked quickly, "Where are you going?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, Hermione gave him an impatient look. "You promised me-"  
  
"Yes, yes, I know. And I plan on honoring that promise . . . eventually."  
  
"Why are you putting this off?" she exploded, annoyed by his obvious lack of care toward his own well being. "Why is it so bad? He's not going to tell everyone you got eaten by a giant squid!"  
  
Draco looked panicked. "Not so loud!"  
  
"What do you think he's going to do, post a large banner that says 'ATTENTION ALL OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, DRACO MALFOY WAS EATEN BY THE GIANT SQUID!' and let everyone laugh at you?"  
  
"Not so loud!" he demanded again, becoming angrier and angrier, "Just because I happen to know more than you do about charms doesn't mean that you have to go ballistic and start shouting!" His voice was forceful, and he glared mightily. She returned his gaze for a bit but could not stand it after a minute. There was a tense moment that almost crackled.  
  
"I'm sorry," she apologized softly, her shoulders dipping. He couldn't tell if she really meant it. She shifted the bag on her shoulder, composure regained. "I shouldn't have yelled like that."  
  
"Tell me about it," he replied icily. She looked up sharply at his tone, and he saw her face. It was not a sight he would soon forget. She looked so very apologetic, brown eyes large and asking quietly for forgiveness. His demeanor softened. "It doesn't matter." He gave her a slight smile before continuing, "You probably ought to go back to your room for the night before our tempers really flare up." She nodded in agreement, turning and walking away slowly. Before she was out of earshot, Draco called out one last time.  
  
"Maybe I'll tell him tomorrow."  
  
She didn't even turn around.  
  
~~  
  
Draco didn't go and tell Dumbledore the next day. Or the day following. Or any of the days that week. He had meant to, he really had. He'd promised, after all, and a Malfoy always kept his word (rule number forty- one). Yet every time he gathered the nerve to go, he thought of an excuse not to. They were not very good excuses, but he found them within good reason to avoid the headmaster's office for one more night.  
  
Hermione hadn't come back since that night.  
  
He figured that in her twisted girl-mind, this was his punishment. Denying him contact with her was supposed to teach him a lesson. Had she been male, she would have approached him, yelled at him, tried to make him go. But girls didn't see fit to do that; they had to make you suffer, make you sorry for your petty crime. Only, this time, Draco Malfoy had the upper hand. He didn't care one bit that she hadn't come to see him. Nope, not at all.  
  
Well, perhaps a little. But certainly no more than that.  
  
Tonight's reason not to visit Dumbledore was that he wanted to see how long Hermione would hold out before she actually gave in and came to visit him. Draco knew that she could probably last a good, long while, most likely longer than him, but he chose not to admit that to himself. He was trying to prove a point; he didn't need Hermione Granger. He needed no company at all!  
  
Somewhere down the hall leading to the left, he heard the faraway chime of a clock. He counted the tolls; it was eleven o'clock. It'd been a little over a week since he'd talked to anyone, he realized, and was struck by how quiet it had become. He let out a resigned sigh and assessed the situation.  
  
On one hand, if he went to Dumbledore tonight, he would be able to travel anywhere he pleased the next day. He wouldn't have to see Hermione ever again, if he didn't want to. Not that he minded her as much as he once had, but if he came out into public, then he could choose his companions freely. Yet if he went to see Dumbledore, that also meant that he'd have to tell the truth and let everyone know.  
  
He glowered at the air. Hagrid would most certainly get his; a large smile betrayed him as he imagined haunting the half-giant for the rest of his miserable life.  
  
Being dead was dreadfully boring, he decided, scrunching his nose in malcontent. He admitted readily that Hermione had made the afterlife a bit more interesting, but he was a proud person, even in death. Why should he, Draco Malfoy, have to stoop to the demands of a common Muggleborn? Becoming quite cross with the entire situation, he found himself muttering aloud.  
  
"I'm so bored."  
  
Being a ghost had its perks, for sure, but floating through walls only provided so much entertainment before it became commonplace. And now that he'd been dead for a couple of weeks-he shook his head, time had been exceedingly difficult to keep track of, as of late-he found that it had lost its appeal. When you couldn't touch or feel anything it was infinitely harder to amuse yourself.  
  
"Then why don't you get off your bloody high horse and just go see the Headmaster? Please?"  
  
His head whipped to the left, where a half-invisible Hermione Granger was standing. The dratted Invisibility Cloak, he swore to himself. Glowering at her, he turned his nose toward the ceiling. "Nothing better to do, Granger?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Come off it, Malfoy. Just go see the Headmaster." When the statement didn't evoke a reaction, she amended it ominously. "Or I'll do so myself."  
  
If she had expected to see fear or paranoia she was sadly let down. Anger flashed through his transparent eyes. She blinked, vaguely remembering that they had been a very pretty gray color before he'd died. "Granger, if I wanted your holier-than-thou advice I would have asked for it. Can't you just leave me in peace?"  
  
"If you were in peace, you wouldn't still be here." She replied cattily, keeping a cool head. She knew she was going to win this argument; she was determined to. "I've given you your ultimatum, Malfoy. You do it, or I will."  
  
He smirked. "You wouldn't dare."  
  
~~  
  
"Mr. Malfoy! Miss Granger told me you'd be here."  
  
For the first time in a very long while, Draco had found himself completely voiceless. Albus Dumbledore, old yet still seemingly timeless, was standing in front of him, smiling benignly. Behind him stood Hermione, giving him a self-satisfied look. Had he possessed the presence of mind, he would have given her a level steel glare she would not soon forget. Instead, to his eternal disgust, his countenance held a blank and dumbfounded look.  
  
"Pro-professor! What . . . I mean, how? I don't-that is to say . . . Granger , I am going to kill you."  
  
Offering a chuckle of amusement and a small shrug, Dumbledore kept the same smile on his face. "Now, now, Mr. Malfoy. I won't tolerate threats to my students. I promise you that you are not in any trouble. I merely want to ask a few simple questions, and then I will leave you be to your closet."  
  
Draco continued to stare defiantly at the pair, recognizing the fact that he had little choice in the matter. Dumbledore took that as a yes, and began a bombardment of questions. "How did you die?" "When?" "What happened to you since?" "Why have you chosen to hide?" By the time the interview had drawn to a close, Draco was even more ill tempered than before, if that was possible. He frowned heartily at both his former Headmaster and classmate.  
  
"This information won't be released, will it?" he muttered harshly, eyes shifting between the two.  
  
Dumbledore looked a bit surprised, "No, not unless you want it to be released. Your secret is safe with me. However, your parents of course will have to be told-" Draco looked stricken "-and unless you want to face an endless barrage of questions, I say you'll probably need an alternate story to tell the public."  
  
Mumbling a half-hearted, "Yes, sir", Draco watched the old man walk confidently down the hall. Hermione stayed, looking bashfully at her feet. Draco didn't buy it for a second; the little Mudblood was proud of herself for what she had done! For her betrayal. He turned away from her.  
  
"I can't believe you did that to me."  
  
She looked up, her visage a bit too innocent. "It had to be done. You know that. You would have had to face it eventually, so why not get it over with?" As she paused, she noticed he was about to speak. She hurried to cut him off and avoid a long rant about how horrible she was. "Was it that bad, anyway? He said no one would have to know."  
  
"Except my parents. And believe me, that's bad." He felt as if he were going to explode and land at her feet in tiny shredded pieces. "Very, very bad. They're going to kill me!"  
  
"You're already dead."  
  
"That wasn't funny, Granger."  
  
There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Hermione sighed. "If you're waiting for an apology, Draco Malfoy, then you'll be waiting for a long time, because you're not getting one. I did what I thought was right, and I think it will ultimately work out better for you." Her voice faded and she shifted her weight on her feet as if thinking about leaving.  
  
He stared at her for a moment. He felt a lot of things at that point- anger, betrayal, but also a tiny bit of respect. She'd done what she felt was best for his well-being; she'd been looking out for him. Not a lot of people did that. His anger had cooled to a simmer, but still threatened to boil over. Sighing, he shrugged.  
  
"Maybe I'll see you tomorrow or something," he said monotonously, before coasting through the wall into the safety of his broom closet. Through the door, he heard her footsteps die away.  
  
Tomorrow, he resolved, he would go out into the open.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Thank you, Captain Obvious.  
  
A/N: Not much to say. Just wanted to give a big THANK YOU to those who reviewed:  
  
Sylvan Tears, kway, paradoxical, and Madagascan Shrub!  
  
You guys made me VERY happy!  
  
Please read and review! 


	4. The Daily Prophet

"Draco Malfoy, son of esteemed wizard Lucius Malfoy—" a pause, quickly followed by a sarcastic snort, "has finally be found, after missing for a period of four weeks. Unfortunately, he was not found in his former good health, but is dead at the untimely age of seventeen. His death, which details have been kept secret by both the Malfoy family and Hogwarts, is a mystery. Still, a piece of him remains. He is now a ghost, currently haunting his former school."  
  
Ron Weasley couldn't take it anymore. He burst into hysterical laughter.  
  
"Mal-Mal-Malfoy's a GHOST!" he stuttered between bouts of giggles, not silenced even after Hermione sent him a look that could have had him following in Draco's footsteps.  
  
"Honestly, Ron! Have some sense of dignity, won't you? It's not a very laughable subject! He died!" she reprimanded, looking over at Harry for support. Her raven-haired friend, however, was much more preoccupied with skimming the rest of the article on Malfoy in the Daily Prophet. He seemed to be attempting to suppress his chuckles, but was failing. He, too, came into Hermione's wrathful gaze.  
  
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, trying to sound more serious than he felt, "You're entirely correct. That is not a joking matter at all."  
  
"You're quite right it's not. Just because you didn't like him doesn't mean you should have no respect for his passing, especially since he's still floating around here." Both boys looked over at their friend, lips frowning and eyes laughing.  
  
Ron nodded. "Yes, mum," he said playfully, mussing her hair when she sent him another of her death glares. "Honestly, Hermione, no need to be so uptight. I know it's not good to make fun of Malfoy—" Hermione harrumphed in agreement, "—but he got what he deserved."  
  
"Oh yeah?" she replied hotly, "And what exactly did he deserve?"  
  
Harry shook his head, "Why don't we stop this conversation now, before it escalates any further?" He patted Hermione's arm, but she jerked away from him.  
  
"I'm going to go to the library. I'll be back later this afternoon." With that, she stood and turned away, heading out the doors of the Great Hall.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes, jutting a thumb in the direction their female friend had stormed off. "She's gone mental! Pitying Malfoy? Jeez, next thing you know she'll be making badges and hats like for S.P.E.W.!" He thought for a moment, then. "Save the Poor, Angelic Malfoys!"  
  
Harry repeated it, then promptly burst out laughing. "S.P.A.M.?"  
  
Harry's laughter continued for several minutes, and no amount of prodding or begging could get him to tell Ron exactly what was so funny about the word Spam.  
  
Whispers. Everywhere he went, he heard whispers. In his head, he cursed Granger to the very deepest, darkest depths of hell. He preferred hiding in a closet for the rest of eternity to having the entire school whispering and pointing behind his back. Honestly, it was quite pathetic. He glared at a bunch of first years who were fervently corresponding with each other, their eyes following him as he floated past.  
  
"Being dead doesn't make me deaf, you know," he spat, watching as the group visibly jumped and scampered down the hall in the opposite direction. He smirked to himself; one of the upsides of being a ghost was that it made him even more intimidating than before. Still, the pros paled in comparison to the cons.  
  
First of all, he could nowhere without being gawked at or talked about. For a moment he considered if that was any different than the attention he'd gotten before he died. After a bit he decided that yes, it was, because that attention had been wanted and appreciated. Now that he was a spirit, he only wanted to be left very much alone.  
  
And he would have been, too, if it weren't for that meddling Granger!  
  
Granger, who he'd almost been able to tolerate. Granger, who he had almost decided he kind of maybe sort of respected. Granger, who proved, once again, that she really was just as bad as he had originally thought.  
  
Sulking, he floated aimlessly toward the Great Hall. It was well into the afternoon and the students wouldn't be showing up for dinner for another hour and a half, so he crossed his translucent fingers that he would be able to—finally—be left alone. Unfortunately for him, he had many things working against this plan. For one, classes had be let out fifteen minutes earlier and students were feely roaming the halls. Secondly, while the Great Hall wasn't officially open for dinner, it was still open for students who wanted some quiet time. They were allowed to use the space, along with the library, as a place for studying, as long as it wasn't mealtime.  
  
He cut through a corner (pro—it took less time to get to places) and promptly floated through someone. Had he been human and whole his body would have smashed into their own and sent the other person sprawling, however he was not and the person was merely hit with a shock of cold. Still, he felt the need to make a smart comment about watching where they were going. He turned, only to find Pansy Parkinson, ex-girlfriend Pansy Parkinson, staring at him.  
  
Her eyes were wide and staring and her mouth had fallen open in shock. She was making funny noises, as if she were trying to form words but all that was coming from her was a weird gibberish language that made no sense. He considered floating away and leaving her there, but then decided that probably wasn't the way to deal with her.  
  
"Erm... good evening, Pansy."  
  
She was still stuttering and speaking nonsense, but he managed to catch a single "D-d... Draco."  
  
His eyes were shifting up and down and left and right and everywhere but Pansy. It was an insanely awkward situation, and for one of the few times in his life, Draco Malfoy found himself at a loss for words. "So... um... how are things?"  
  
Pansy, having gathered her wits a bit, shook her head and blinked once, slowly. "I don't know."  
  
He arched his ghostly eyebrow, the thought of floating away flickering once again in his mind. Again, he pushed it away. It was more than tempting and in most other situations he would have done just that, but he felt like he at least owed Pansy something. He wasn't sure what, though. It was not as if he could apologize for dying, because he hadn't planned on doing it so soon. He supposed it was some sort of conclusion. "You don't know?"  
  
She moved closer to him, clutching her books tightly to her chest. She looked wary, as if she wasn't sure she could trust him to be the real Draco Malfoy. Her hand reached out, delicately, to his face. It lingered a second in midair before passing through him. She looked disappointed. "I can't believe you're gone."  
  
His eyes followed her hand. "Yeah."  
  
"I never gave up hoping they'd find you, alive and healthy and everything. And then, like this morning... Millicent comes in and she's talking about how they found your ghost and stuff and I was just so confused and upset. I skipped all my morning classes, even Potions and Transfiguration." She was starting to ramble, and she'd lost Draco on why she was telling him all this. It didn't seem important, but Draco nodded anyway.  
  
"Yeah, well... I guess things just won't be the same anymore," he affirmed, still feeling strange in the heat of Pansy's dislocated and odd stare. "Look, Pansy, are you okay? Because I'm fine, really I am."  
  
Her eyes filled up with tears; suddenly, Draco understood what Hermione had been talking about. He could deal with her now, but if he had had to put up with Pansy acting like this for weeks, he probably would have gone insane as well.  
  
She blinked many times then dragged her wrist across her eyes, effectively wiping any escaping tears away. She shook her head as if to clear it and nodded. "I'll be okay." She stated, her Slytherin mask slipping back into place. "So what happened anyway? One minute you were here and then the next, you were like... gone."  
  
Maybe Pansy had a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but Draco was extremely angered out of the blue. Would he have to face that question from everyone? He'd heard people murmuring it to their friends all day long, and then when he was finally able to talk someone normally—or as normally as possible—and then she went and ruined it! His eyes narrowed and he gave her a superior glance, clenching his fists in an effort to control himself.  
  
"Goodbye, Pansy," he said flatly, before turning and gliding away. He did not turn around, but he could hear her sobbing. For a moment, he considered apologizing. But that moment was not very long; he was a Malfoy and he had been insulted. Quite obviously, he was in the right. She was the one who had felt the need to bring up the painful (and really quite embarrassing) details of his death.  
  
Making his way through the corridors, sour expression in place, he could hear clumps of students whispering and murmuring. Prompting his anger to return, he glared at them sharply before continuing his way. He supposed ghosts didn't have the luxury of resting in peace. He was only a few hallways away from his broom closet when he heard a voice call out his name. It seemed strangely familiar, Draco mused to himself, and paused. Could it perhaps be an old housemate? He turned, but what he saw was not one of his Slytherin kin.  
  
"Potter. Weasel. What do you want?" He asked calmly, suppressing the rage that was welling up inside of him.  
  
"Nothing in particular," replied Harry, tossing a raven tress from his eyes, "We just wanted to see if it was real, what we read in the paper this morning."  
  
Draco moaned. The paper, already? His father would be outraged. "The Daily Prophet got ahold of it already? Bloody excellent. I have to go speak with Dumbledore, excuse me."  
  
"No, wait. We're not done talking, yet," interrupted Ron quite unceremoniously, stepping in front of the ghost as if to stop him. Draco rolled his eyes and simply passed through him.  
  
"A little slow on the uptake, Weasel?" He said mockingly, laughing as Ron turned bright red. "It's been lovely chatting with you two, really it has, but I must be—" A shrill voice caught him in the middle of his sentence.  
  
"Ron! Harry! I've been looking for you two everywhere! We were supposed to meet in the library ten minutes ago so we could get in some last minute studying before we went down for dinner. Remember? Honestly, I don't know what you two would do without—Draco."  
  
Draco smirked, adding, "Oh, I don't know what they'd do without me, either."  
  
Ron glared at him, before addressing Hermione. "Sorry, 'Mione, we just got caught up and forgot, I guess."  
  
Hermione gave him and Harry both a sharp glance. "And disturbing the dead is what you got caught up in?" Her tone was one of disgust. "Honestly, guys, that's rather pathetic. Draco is no different now—well, of course he's different, but you know what I mean—and... oh, what was I saying? Bother, just leave him alone."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Ron matched Hermione's glare with one of his own. "No, Hermione. You're wrong." A cloud of silence befell the three teens and their ghostly companion as Harry tugged on his arm desperately, trying to dissuade him. "Malfoy is different now."  
  
Draco hung in the air and faked a yawn. "Yes, Weasley, I'm transparent now. Good job." His eyes shifted to Harry's watch. "And it only took you a few minutes, too."  
  
Ron ignored his sarcasm. "Everything that you claimed made you better, Malfoy, it's all gone. You can't practice magic anymore, so you can't be better at it. You have no money, no influence, no social status. You don't even have your precious pure blood." He gave a spiteful laugh. "Now, in reality, you're what we always saw you as, anyway. Transparent, like you said."  
  
Upon hearing Ron's speech, Draco's first instinct was to launch himself at the red headed, jeering boy and pummel him. Yet a second later he realized that that was quite impossible. He considered a verbal comeback, but decided against it. Weasley had taken a cheap shot, which had gone straight to one of the few things he still had—his pride. For a moment he merely held still, his face drawn and pensive, then he simply turned and vanished through the wall, leaving the silence and the three pairs of eyes behind him.  
  
He missed Hermione's wrath.  
  
"Ronald Weasley! You are, without a doubt, the most vile, horrible, insolent, nasty creature ever to walk the earth and if you ever speak to me again it will be far, far too soon!" She exploded as soon as Draco was gone.  
  
Ron shook his head, his eyes still wide and his gaze never leaving the spot his former classmate had disappeared through. "I'm sorry, Hermione."  
  
She glowered. "No, you're not."  
  
Harry stepped between the two, playing peacemaker. It occurred to him that he'd had to do that a lot, lately. It was getting to be not only aggravating but difficult. He had hoped that they had just entered some odd stage, yet both of their tempers showed no sign of relenting, constantly thrusting him into the middle man position. "Ron, that was uncalled for." Ignoring the look Ron gave him, he turned to Hermione, "And Hermione, while harsh, Ron's statements weren't far off base."  
  
"He tortured us for years!" Ron interjected, before Harry threw a hand over his mouth.  
  
"I know you two are having some problems, so let's just put this behind us, okay? Malfoy didn't deserve to be treated like that Ron, despite what he's said to us for years and years. I seem to recall us saying a few things back, didn't we?" He removed his hand from Ron's mouth. "Now apologize, Ron."  
  
Brushing a red strand away from his face, Ron sighed. "I shouldn't have said it, Hermione. At least not to his face."  
  
She shook her head, eyes still narrowed, and began to turn away. "Whatever, it doesn't matter," she said quietly, retracing her earlier steps. She was stopped, however, when Harry called her name.  
  
"You've been acting strange, lately, Hermione," he said quietly, his voice low and without accusation, but she sensed something, some undertone, to it. She mumbled a quick list of classes, friends, teachers, and the usual lot of things that made her act strange, surprised to see Harry shake his head. "No, it's different."  
  
Ron nodded, "Yeah. Like what you did just now with Malfoy." That summoned a glare from both of the other parties. "What? Don't look at me like that, it was strange. You've never cared about him, and don't try to tell me any different."  
  
"He has a point," Harry acknowledged, "Plus, you've been sneaking out at night, or so Lavender and Parvati have told everyone."  
  
"Those gossiping... !" She nearly swore and just caught herself, "They pretended to be sleeping." Upon the realization that she'd said far too much, she closed her mouth quickly and began to chew on her lower lip.  
  
"So something IS going on," Ron added suspiciously, "What is it?"  
  
She turned away from them and faced the empty hallway. She suddenly felt like crying, or laughing, or doing something, anything, that had no meaning to this conversation. She didn't like keeping things from Harry and Ron, but there were a few things in her life that they would most definitely not understand. Sighing, she began to tell them about what had happened when she'd come across the ghostly figure of Draco Malfoy one night...  
  
"... and he's really not as bad as we made him out to be, really! I don't know, it's almost like... like..." She trailed off, shifting uncomfortably under the flabbergasted stares of her friends.  
  
"Like your friends?" Harry finished, green eyes probing hers for more information. "I don't mean to insult you, Hermione, but are you entirely sure that's safe? I mean, with who his father is..."  
  
"... and who his father serves!" Ron interjected.  
  
"Oh, Ron, Harry...you two just don't understand. He's changed, sort of. Not a lot because he's still mean and pompous and all of that, of course, he wouldn't be himself if he weren't, but it's more as if... as if he had some sort of strange reality check, or something."  
  
Harry snorted. "A strange reality check, indeed." Upon her glare, he amended, "No offense. I just... I worry, Hermione."  
  
"We just want to make sure you're okay." Ron gave her a quick hug. "That's all."  
  
Hermione nodded understandingly, but inside she felt like this battle hadn't been won, and she, Ron, and Harry would be having it again. "I know, I know."  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its characters and blah blah blah!  
  
A/N: So I like the first half of this chapter, and I like the last half of this chapter, I'm just not quite sure if I like them together. Comments on how it flowed/the writing in general/everything else would be greatly appreciated.  
  
Sorry about not posting this in forever. Worst case of writers block ever. I just couldn't write a thing. It was horrible! But it's mostly over so hopefully updates will be coming a little faster, eh?  
  
Anyway, please read and review. If you don't want to talk about the fic a lot, why not tell me your favorite musical? If you don't have a favorite musical, then please explain to me how you manage to live without one. However, I'd really appreciate a comment or two on the chapter.  
  
Thanks! 


	5. Wanda's Guide to the Wonderment of the S...

"Here's the book I said I'd let you borrow, Harry." Hermione said monotonously, handing him her well-loved copy of _Wanda's Guide to the Wonderment of the Stars_. The trio had decided to bypass studying and just head back to the common room to relax before dinner, yet there was still a tension hanging between them that usually did not exist.

"You know we only told you that for your own good, right, Hermione? What we said about Malfoy?" Ron asked, looking at her with a concern that surprised even himself.

She gave him a quick glance, trying to decide how to answer that question without re-opening the very recently healed wound. "I understand that what you said afterwards, to me, was an admission of genuine concern. But before that… badgering Malfoy for no reason at all? That wasn't for anyone's good, Ron."

Ron reddened slightly, and Harry jumped in to save him. "It was a stupid thing to do, Hermione. I don't even know why we did it."

"Well, it's not like he wasn't a great bloody prat when he was alive. So who's to say that would change now, right? Really, Hermione, we were worried…" his voice trailed off, but Hermione interrupted before he could finish his thought.

"Worried? You didn't even know Malfoy and I were talking to each other until I told you! And that wasn't until _after_ you heckled him for no apparent reason," she snapped, stopping in the middle of the hallway and folding her arms across her chest, "What you did was horrible—"

"—horribly justified!" Ron retorted, to Harry's horror. The lanky boy watched as though he were seeing a car accident; he couldn't look away, even if he wanted to, but he also couldn't help.

"Ronald, you are infuriating. When you get over yourself, let me know, and then maybe I'll forgive you." She stormed away, leaving the two boys in her wake. She'd been anticipating that they'd fight that good fight again, but she hadn't expected it to be twice in five minutes.

Harry sighed. "She's insane to trust Malfoy," he said, then paused and added, "but that doesn't mean we have the right to protect her. She's her own person, Ron. She can take care of herself."

Ron bit his lip, shuffling his feet slightly. "I know. I just… always seem to forget, or something."

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"_Wanda's Guide to the Wonderment of the Stars_ doesn't say anything about a boot shaped cluster." Harry sighed, frustrated. "What do you think it looks like, Ron? … Ron?"

Turning to check on his red-haired, sulky companion, Harry closed his book. They'd gotten practically nothing done on their project, and it was due in two days! Hermione had been harassing them a week ago to finish it early, but she'd stopped nagging when he and Ron had had that run in with Malfoy the Ghost. She'd stopped talking to them altogether, actually. Since that point, Ron had found it as an excuse to pout and amidst all the drama Harry had forgotten about the project until only a half-hour earlier. In a mad rush, the two boys had climbed all the way to the tip-top of the Astronomy Tower, only to find it—well—occupied. So they'd gone back to the Gryffindor common room and sat on the balcony. Surrounded by trees, it didn't have nearly as good a view, but they had made do.

Trying to regain his friend's attention, Harry spoke up again. "Ron?"

Ron seemed to snap out of his reverie for a moment, then he proceeded to scowl once more. Giving a quick glance at the sky, he muttered, "Looks like a boot to me."

Exasperated, Harry stood and threw the book into Ron's lap. "I've had it, Ron!" he cried, leaving the balcony and storming into the common room. The eyes of his fellow Gryffindors followed him as he stalked up into the dormitory, quickly followed by an irate Ronald Weasley. It was a recipe for disaster, and everyone knew that it as best to stay out of the two ill-tempered wizards' ways.

Ron flew into the dormitory moments after the door had been slammed the first time, glaring at Harry with all of his might. "What in the bloody hell was that about? I'm sorry I'm not exactly enthralled at the thought of…of boot-shaped clusters!"

Harry ripped back the curtains to his bed, sitting on it and beginning to remove his shoes. "Boot-shaped… you think this is about that stupid project? You've been this way the whole week long!"

"What way!?" Ron fairly exploded.

"You've been pouting like a three year old! Honestly! It's pathetic, Ron. Just because Hermione isn't talking to us—"

"—don't mention her to me!— "

"—doesn't give you the right to act like a child! We both had it coming, hassling him like that," Harry concluded, breathing heavily in the wake of Ron's cutting glare.

Taking a deep breath, Ron spoke evenly, "She seemed alright with it at first."

"Yeah," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "Until we started walking back to the common room, and you began going on about how _right_ you were, and telling her that he was such a prat and… geez, Ron. You acted like a jerk. A huge jerk! You should have just let it be, and she _would _have been okay."

Ron, visibly calmed, softened his gaze. "I know," he whispered, defeated. "I just…I want to protect her, sort of. I don't know. It's confusing."

Harry sighed, throwing himself back on his pillow and closing the curtains sharply. "Oh, bloody hell…" he muttered, causing Ron to worry. He'd been reasonably sure they weren't fighting anymore.

"Harry?" he said questioningly, stepping to the side of his bed and pulling back the curtains, revealing the green-eyed boy to be giving him a very impatient glance.

"You're so slow," proclaimed the annoyed raven-haired boy, rolling away from Ron and making him even more curious.

"What?" he asked defensively, grabbing Harry's shoulder, forcing him to turn over into his previous position.

Closing his eyes in exasperation, Harry shook off Ron's hand. "You like her, idiot," he said impatiently, reaching up to catch the curtains and pull them to a close.

"… Oh."

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"So do you think I should forgive Ron?" asked Hermione, her back resting against the wall of the broom closet. Ever since the day that he had encountered Pansy, Harry and Ron, Draco had refused to emerge from it. She pushed one of the long-forgotten brooms away from her, partly for more room and partly because it stank to high heaven.

Draco floated across from her, shrugging lightly. "I thought you two made up or something, after I left."

She shook her head. "He seemed okay at first. Then as we were walking back he just started to pick a fight. I hate it when he does that! I can't stand to be provoked because I don't have the will power to stop myself." She sighed. "Anyway, he said some very prat-ish things and I haven't talked to him in a week."

"Was I a prat?" he asked, an almost teasing tone to his voice.

Raising an eyebrow, she sensed herself falling into a trap yet couldn't stop herself from answering. "No…"

"Because you haven't talked to me in a week, either," he concluded, trying to act as though he did not care at all.

Struck by a sudden onset of guilt, Hermione avoided his eyes. She hadn't meant to upset Draco, she had just needed time to think about everything. Their sudden friendship, the strain on her relationship with Harry and Ron…it was all very befuddling. Plus she had been terribly embarrassed by her friends' behavior. "I've just been… thinking. About everything that's happened. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you." She paused, then scrunched her nose, "Well, yes, I did… but not because I was angry with you! You bowed out very gracefully," she added appreciatively.

He glared at the wall with an intenseness she had not expected. "Yes, I did. But if I had had my body, those two would _still _be in the hospital wing…" he muttered to himself what sounded like death threats, then continued, "Anyway, it's not as though I could do anything to them." His hand shot out, causing her to jump and bump her head slightly on the hard stone. It approached her face deliberately, and then passed softly through it. She exhaled slowly; she hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath.

"You can't exactly fight when you're a ghost."

Hermione glanced at him sympathetically, before perking up. "Of course! I meant to tell you!" she stood up, sticking her hand deep into the pocket on her robes, producing a small piece of paper. "Over the past week, I thought of something."

Interested, Draco glided next to her, half of him hanging through the wall. "What is it? " he questioned, leaning in closer to see what was written on the parchment.

"It occurred to me that you haven't really been taught about you know… how to be a proper ghost, so—"

Draco interrupted. "You mean they have an etiquette?" Her glare silenced him.

"As I was saying, you haven't been taught to haunt or even been informed of what kind of ghost clubs you can belong to—"

"—they have clubs?" He closed his mouth at the furious glance she shot him. "Sorry."

"So I asked Nearly Headless Nick to show you the ropes." At his crestfallen look, she continued, "Oh come now, it won't be so terrible. Nick is lovely to talk to, and he know all about being a ghost."

Draco drifted through her and back to the other side of the closet. "Of course he does! He's been one for hundreds of years!" At her impatient look, he shook his head, "It's not happening, Granger. Sorry. It's bad enough being a spirit in the first place, but I'm not going to take lessons from some Gryffindor Ghostie who couldn't even manage to get his whole head chopped off!"

Hermione seethed. "What exactly is your problem? I'm doing you a favor!"

"Well, I didn't ask you to do it, did I?" He shouted back, rising higher and higher into the air.

"No, you didn't. I did it because we're friends and that's what friends do!"

There was a long, awkward pause. They stayed still, staring at each other defiantly, daring the other to look away. To her surprise, he shifted his gaze first.

"Look, Granger," he stated, realizing that he'd gone back to saying her last name but not consciously recognizing it, "It's not as though I don't appreciate what you've done. You kept my secret, you told Dumbledore, you stood up for me. You've been the good guy here. But I'm not a good guy. I don't want ghost lessons, I don't want a friend. It's not that I don't think it's nice of you, it's just… I'm not nice. So this isn't a conversion to the side of all things good and happy. I'm just lonely and you're the only one who will treat me like I'm still me. That's it."

Hermione refused to let her eyes drop. She wanted to, but she feared that moving them, let alone blinking them, would cause the tears of hurt to spill out over the edges and down her cheeks. And that just wouldn't do. She would not cry in front of him, if at all. He was not worth it. He wasn't!

"Thank you," she said, quietly, resolved.

He made a face of confusion. "What?"

"I said 'thank you'. Thank you for reaffirming my previous thought that there is no good inside of you." She paused, not daring to breathe, then added boldly, "In fact, there's nothing inside of you at all." She passed her hand through his transparent middle, meeting no resistance.

Dropping the piece of paper in her hand and letting it flutter to the ground, Hermione turned the knob and let herself out, walking with a straight back and a head held high the entire length of the corridor.

Draco was fuming. Who had given her the right to invade his personal afterlife like that? She had been a companion, and a good one, but only until he would have been able to stand on his own two feet. He frowned at the expression he had used, then shook his head. Had he given her the impression that they were friends?

He sighed. Yes, and that was because he, too, had thought of them as such.

It scared him, he realized, to think that this girl was his friend. Or had been, until he had pushed her away. It was his Malfoy upbringing, he decided. The biases he had grown up with still haunted him, even when he was the one who was supposed to be doing the haunting.

But now, none of it mattered. He was exactly what Ron Weasley had called him that fateful week ago. Transparent. There was nothing holding him to anything anymore. No blood to link him to his father or other purebloods, no house that he belonged to which demanded his loyalty, no money that he could spend. He had absolutely no ties, no responsibilities to anyone or anything.

A new sense of freedom dawned on him; he was exonerated. He had a clean slate, a chance to start over. He could be whatever type of ghostly person he wished because there was no one to honor, or to please. He was going to finally start living for himself, listening to his heart more than the voices his parents had implanted in his mind.

Through death, he had gotten a new lease on life.

Had he been able to bite his lip, he would have done so. What would he do with this new found freedom, now that he had it? Could he change the general perception that everyone had of him? No. And he didn't especially want to, either. Being freed from his duties as a Malfoy didn't change the fact that he was still himself. There was no sudden need to be best friends with the Boy Who Wouldn't Die and his faithful sidekick Weasel the red-haired Wonder. He had no amends to make.

But he could be better. At least in a small number of ways.

"Hermione!" he suddenly remembered, cursing at the way he had treated her. Perhaps he could apologize to her publicly, he thought; his nose crinkled. Really, alone would do just fine. But he needed to find a specific way to win her back. He had a feeling that a mere apology would not mend the mess he'd made, no matter how sincere.

A small smile crept to his face as he looked down at the ground, directly at the piece of parchment Hermione had dropped in her hurry to get away. The ghost lessons, of course! Perhaps if he attended and showed that he really appreciated her efforts, she would be more open to hearing him apologize.

Drifting downwards, he thanked his lucky stars that it had landed face up. He read it slowly.

Ghost Lessons

Sir Nicholas

Sunday's at 8 o clock outside of the Room of Requirement 

Draco floated easily through the door, slipping out into the quiet hallway noiselessly.

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Ron's mind reeled. He liked Hermione. He. Liked. Hermione. When had this happened? How had Harry known before even he had? How had this come to be? He fought with Hermione constantly! Could affection be born from arguments?

_Well_, he mused, _I do rather like the way she looks when she's upset. All wild and yet strangely contained. Like one big contradiction…_

"Stop it, Ron!" he said to himself, aloud, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had heard him. Everyone was scratching away at parchment, trying to finish essays as quickly as possible so as to go outside and enjoy the day, or chatting with friends. It was a lazy Sunday morning, one which he spent lounging about in one of the overstuffed armchairs that populated the Gryffindor Common Room. He paid no mind to the fact that he had a huge project due the following day, which he had not yet started. He was much more preoccupied on a certain subject that the school didn't teach…

"Ronald!" came the shrill cry to his right, causing him to jump out of his trance. As startled as he was to begin with, he thought his heart was about to stop when he found that it was Hermione.

He took a deep breath. "So… you're talking to me again?'

She sniffed. "Not that you deserve it."

"Touché." He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry about what I said Hermione. I just… worry. I can't help it. You mean a lot to me and I'd hate to see you get hurt by getting into some weird ghost and human, cross-house friendship."

Hermione softened at his admission, scooting her chair closer to his and placing her palm lightly against his forearm. He was silently thankful she didn't notice him flush as she did that. "I can understand you wanting to be protective. And if it makes you feel any better, you were entirely correct. He really is just a git."

Alarmed at the sadness that had suddenly flooded her tone, Ron covered her hand with his own. "What did he do? Did he say something to you? I swear I'll—"

"You'll do nothing, Ron." She sighed, pulling away her hand and curling into a ball in her chair. "I know you mean well, but I'm a big girl. It was my own fault I got hurt, so there's no reason for anyone but me to deal with the consequences of my actions. Got that?"

He nodded in a pacified manner, which surprised her. Inwardly, he was screaming. He wanted to do something, to help. But Hermione didn't want that, and whatever she wanted, he was more than willing to obey. Anything to make her notice him as he now realized he'd been noticing her.

She smiled genuinely, patting his cheek once and then standing. "Thanks, Ron," she half-mumbled quickly, before turning and heading towards the corner where Harry was bent over a pile of schoolbooks. Ron watched her retreating back, heaving a great sigh as he turned back to the fire.

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Draco didn't know what time it was. It most likely was not eight o'clock, which was the time he was to meet Nearly Headless Nick, but he'd lost all concept of timing when he'd stopped having to sleep. He figured Nick probably had the same problem, however, and it was possible that the ghost was already waiting outside the Room of Requirement for him. It was more likely that he'd be waiting for hours on end, but really, he had all the time in the world. A few measly hours spent doing nothing? No problem at all.

He floated down the endless hallways, turning here or there, trying to remember the correct way to the room. He'd only been there a few times, and Hogwarts was so large it was hard to remember which way was what. Somehow, he'd managed to go past the Great Hall three times, and he could have sworn he'd seen that painting before…

Finally reaching one of the main staircases, Draco used it to guide him up two floors to ground level. He did a quick scan of the surrounding foyers to make sure that Hermione was not there. He still had his pride; he didn't want her to know he was attending the lessons until he was ready to tell her himself. He was about to float back towards the staircase when he heard a sympathetic cry. At first, he was convinced it was another simpering first year, yet the whimper had been strangely familiar. Then it hit him…

His mother.

He turned to find both of his parents, standing in the main hall, accompanied by Dumbledore.

He could have sworn he'd told William he didn't want to go to Hell.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the characters, etc. etc.

A/N: Sorry this took me so long. I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen. I know where this is going, I just didn't know how to get there. Heh.

I'd like to thank EVERYONE who reviewed the last chapter. It felt absolutely amazing to finally have this story get some more credit. Thank you's go to: Slyvan Tears, WolviesLover, aku-neko, Lyansidde, ava gurley, dawn1, Angie, taffi, Karana Belle, Slindy, Sanna, and especially Jessabel, who rec'd me to her Yahoo D/Hr group, which probably accounts for all the new reviews. I really, really appreciate it. Thank you, guys.

As always, thank to my lovely beta, Aria, as well. :D

My favorite musical is Les Miserables, if any of you were wondering.

If you don't feel like writing much in a review about my story, how 'bout you tell me your favorite movie? Please review, though. I really appreciate it. See you in chapter six!


	6. The Malfoy Code of Conduct again

At the sight of his parents standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, accompanied by the (horrible! awful! soon-to-be-quite haunted!) Headmaster, Draco was suddenly reminded of section 25, subsection 4, rule 326 of the Malfoy Code of Conduct.

"Respect and fear thy parents."

Oh, how he did at that moment.

"Mother, Father." He addressed them awkwardly, wondering if he should continue what was bound to be one of the most horrible and embarrassing conversations of his afterlife, or to just turn and flee. Each had an equal amount of shame, he reasoned. He briefly wondered where his new found sense of independence had flown to; hadn't he just decided that he was completely free of all ties with his parents? Yes, he answered himself, but that was when he hadn't had to face them. He made a solemn vow to haunt Dumbledore for the rest of his life.

"Draco." His father stated, looking up and down his ghostly son with a mixture of regret and disdain flitting across his face. Draco wanted to grimace but didn't think that would improve the situation at all. "Your mother and I came as soon as we were notified that you had been…found."

At this, Narcissa began to sniff. Her face was downcast and her dramatic sobs were only making the entire ordeal more tense for Draco. She clung to Lucius's arm as if she could not support herself without his help. She looked up quickly, before turning away from the apparition that had once been her son, whimpering a small, "My poor darling!"

He was at a loss. How was he supposed to talk to them? Was he supposed to talk to them? All of his instincts were telling him to float away as fast as inhumanly possible. He was debating whether to talk again or not when Dumbledore broke the silence.

"I'm sure you three have a lot to discuss," he said politely, moving away from Narcissa and Lucius. "Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy, you are welcome to stay for the rest of the day, if you so choose." With that, he turned and disappeared into the adjacent hallway.

Draco could only wish he could do the same.

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Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He considered doing both, but didn't want to seem any crazier than half of the school already thought he was. So, instead, he sighed and debated the two silently in his head.

The reasons to laugh, he mused, would be the following.

Ron was mooning over Hermione.

He somewhat resembled a heartbroken puppy.

Hermione was completely, totally, and unbelievably oblivious.

Oh bother, he thought to himself, those are all the reasons to cry, too…

He couldn't believe he was still watching Ron watch Hermione. It was so pathetic that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of them. He wanted to go to one of them, either of them, and just plead for them to go _speak_ to the other, at the very least! If Ron sighed so helplessly one more time, he thought he might just puke. He cursed the house elves; if only they wouldn't make such delicious dinners! He was most definitely regretting that second helping.

Ron sighed. Again. Harry resisted the urge to grind his teeth and clutched his stomach, silently telling his dinner to stay down. How was he supposed to avenge his parents and Sirius, save the wizarding world, defeat evil, do his homework, and fix his best friend's love life? The last one being a girl's job, on top of that! Of course, that sounded sexist, but really, how many boys went about meddling with people's emotions? Few to none! Girls were the ones who did that. Girls were the ones who were SUPPOSED to do that. Unfortunately, though, Harry had two problems. He went over them in his head.

The girl he was closest to was Hermione and

Hermione could not go mucking around in Ron's lovelife if she herself was the object of Ron's affections!

Shoving aside his Transfiguration homework (which wasn't really important anyway, when would he ever need to chair into a goblet?) he began to think. He and Ron knew lots of suitable girls. Girls that could help Harry help Ron. But who?

Well, who else? He chuckled to himself.

"Hey, Parvati! Lavender! Come here, would you?"

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Run, run, hide! Go through the wall. The door. Through anything! Just escape!

Shutup, Draco told the voices in his head, eyes downcast. His senses were in overdrive, every one of them telling him to move it, get out of there as quickly as possible. But he knew it wouldn't be that easy. No, his parents were not the sort who would let their dead son rest in peace. They were the type that hectored and nagged and had to find out just _how _it happened and _why_ it hadn't been prevented. Even as a ghost, a teenager couldn't get any privacy!

"So…how?" His father stated, lifting his head higher. His father did that when he was feeling confused or vulnerable. It was his way of compensating. It usually just made Draco feel lower.

"I…don't really care to discuss that." Answered Draco, knowing he was only tempting the man before him, and yet similarly not caring. Some of the free will he had so shortly enjoyed still remained in him, and he relished it as much he could. Also, he just…really didn't care to discuss it. At all.

His answer only divulged another whimper from his mother, who was still clinging to his father's arm with such a terrible force that Draco feared it would fall off from lack of blood. He wanted to tell his mother to loosen her grip but knew it would only produce negative reaction. And in such a perilous situation, he was sure he didn't want that.

"Well, I don't really care that you don't really care. We are discussing it. Now." Lucius said firmly, jostling his arm from his wife's deathgrip and striding forward to his semi-transparent son. "How did you die?"

"It's a…long story." Which wasn't necessarily true, he supposed, seeing as he could tell it fairly quickly. However, he noticed that people usually said it right before they were forced to tell a story they didn't enjoy remembering and it was not his place to disrupt such a tradition.

Lucius stared down at him coldly. Narcissa joined his side, sniffling, but slightly more composed. She dabbed the area under her eyes with a delicate white handkerchief and took a deep breath. "We have time." She answered firmly.

He sighed. "So do I." A beat, then, "I was eaten by the giant squid. I guess that's not really a long story but it certainly is an embarrassing one so if you could please keep it to yourselves…?"

Silence. Pure silence. Draco was wondering when the cricket would start chirping and complete the already most humiliating scene of his entire after-life. Which, admittedly, had not been especially long, but still full of embarrassment. His parents stood, unmoving, staring blankly at him. He feared the worst. Shouting, screaming, a verbal lashing he would not soon forget!

He was surprised to hear his parent's laughter.

Could this be true? Were his parents actually _laughing_ at their son and only heir's demise? Did they truly find it humorous? He was appalled! Nevermind the fact that it was rather funny, he was still their son! Were they so heartless? Draco rolled his eyes. Stupid question.

"Are you serious, Draco?" his mother said, hiccupping in between bouts of laughter. She looked so relaxed; she was not the refined and composed lady he was used to seeing. Heaving a deeply contented sigh, she continued, "I haven't heard anything so ridiculous in my entire life."

"You wouldn't think it was so ridiculous if _you_ had died that way." Draco muttered bitterly. It was bad enough having Hermione laugh at it, but his own parents? In his head, he cursed. Hermione! He had forgotten about his mission to meet Nearly Headless Nick when he'd run into Dumbledore and his parents.

Lucius was chuckling to himself and then shook his head at his son's impatient tone. "We're sorry, Draco. Obviously, we're both quite upset that you've passed away. But still, you have to admit, that is rather—"

"It is not funny!" Draco fairly exploded. It wasn't! It was humiliating and embarrassing and cruel! "Aren't you supposed to be seeking vengeance on my behalf? Suing the school, or _something_?" Here he had assumed that they would be furious at that big, half-giant dolt of teacher, and they were laughing! At him! At his _death_! There was something hideously wrong with that!

"Yes, yes, of course." Lucius answered coughing once in an attempt to stifle his laughter. When he had himself mostly under control, he went on, "We're outraged, really. But your mother and I cannot do much on your behalf."

"What!?" This was not happening. These were _not_ his parents!

"I cannot make waves, Draco. You know that. I've got to be on my best behavior if I don't want to go back to Azkaban. You can't expect me to sacrifice my freedom for a lawsuit, can you?" his reply was explained plainly, with the intent to make Draco look quite dumb. It, in fact, worked. Of course, he should have seen that coming from far away. It was so painfully obvious, he wasn't sure what he had expected. He knew that only fifteen minutes earlier he had convinced himself he wanted nothing to do with his family, but he had expected a fight. It was a jolt to his pride to see his parents giving up so easily. He was letting go of them, not the other way around!

They didn't want to fight for him? Fine. That only made the sever that was bound to come that much easier for him. "You're not going to do anything, then?" he asked coldly, mimicking his father's tone as best he could.

"Draco, do understand. We cannot risk your father's being incarcerated again. And you…" Narcissa started to explain, but stopped short, realizing what she was about to say was not coming out right at all.

"Correct, Mother, I am dead." His parents opened their mouths to defend themselves, but he cut them off, "I understand. And I hope you, too, will understand when I say I no longer wish to see either of you."

He glided past them and up the staircase, ignoring his mother's unmistakable wailing and his father's shouts for him to return this instant. He didn't want to, but he stopped and turned to face them.

"By the way, do you have the time?" he asked politely, trying not to enjoy the looks of shock on their faces.

"It's 7:53." His mother said, monotonously.

"Thank you." Then without a second thought, he turned and floated up the rest of the staircase, headed for the Room of Requirement.

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"Let me get this straight, Harry." A very excited Parvati Patil said sneakily, twirling a piece of her brown hair inbetween her index finger and thumb. "You want us to talk to Hermione?"

"About Ron?" Lavender Brown added, smirking.

Harry nodded. "You got it girls. I'd do it myself, but I'm not exactly adept in the field of finding things like this out. And you girls? Well, you're experts. Beautiful experts, I might add." Mentally, he checked "flattery" of the list of things he could do to convince Lavender and Parvati to do him this favor.

Both girls giggled. "That we are." Lavender said, cheekily, "Especially the beautiful part."

Brushing his hair out of his eyes and looking at them pleadingly, Harry schmoozed on, "I just want to see my two best friends happy, you know? But I'm not at all tactful and you two are just so very good at this kind of thing. You know how to go about it better than clumsy, tactless old me…" Genuinely desperate look? Check. Concern for friends? More flattery? Self-belittlement? Check, check. He was just too good at this.

"Of course, Harry. We'll take care of everything, no worries!" Parvati smiled energetically, then added, "And you say you don't want Ron to know?"

"Precisely."

Lavender raised her eyebrows suggestively at Harry, reveling in the delicious tricky-ness of the situation. "Then he won't find out."

Harry smiled. "Excellent."

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"So, Miss Granger said that you were interested in learning how to be a true ghost." Nearly Headless Nick was smiling at him genially, but Draco could not bring himself to return it. He had just arrived to find the almost-beheaded ghost already there, waiting patiently for his pupil.

"Well, she thought that I would be interested." He answered, cringing at his own tone. He was supposed to be becoming a better person, and here he was, reverting to his normal behavior of snappish remarks. Brilliant.

Nick hardly seemed fazed, simply gave him a questioning look before continuing on. "Nevertheless, these lessons are very important. You will be learning things that each ghost needs to be able to do properly."

The longer Nick rambled on, the more Draco found he did not like him. He spoke with such an officious tone that it was all he could do to keep himself in the room. He tried his best to listen and be respectful, but it was difficult to pay strict attention to the pompous old fool.

"—futhermore, it is essential that you learn the different guilds of ghosts, our general rules, the basics of haunting—"

Now, there was something interesting! "Haunting?" Draco asked, his mind already brewing up terrible punishments which included him and a certain dim-witted half-giant…oh! And perhaps an scheming Headmaster…

He tried not to be insulted when Nick laughed. "Of course, dear boy, but you'll be learning that much later! We have tons of information to cover before we get to that point, and depending on your willingness to cooperate and how quickly you catch on, it could be weeks off! First we must go over the rules."

Draco did not hide his anger. He heaved a great, impatient sigh and narrowed his eyes at the elder ghost. "Like?"

"The cardinal rule of ghosts is do not become emotionally attached to any of those from your former life." Nick stated, not missing Draco's look of unhappiness.

"So you mean, I am stuck with being lonely for the rest of eternity?" Draco was wondering what was worse, being alone forever or eternal damnation? Suddenly, they seemed like one and the same. William should have warned him about that! It would have made him consider his options much longer and more seriously. He'd have to haunt him as soon as he was done with that stupid oaf Hagrid and that busybody Dumbledore. That is, after he learned the proper haunting techniques.

Nick chuckled at the inexperienced ghost-boy. "It was your choice, Draco. And now you learn the consequences of your actions."

Draco folded his arms and glared at the floor. "I hate it when people say that."

"Get used to it," Nick replied haughtily, "You're going to be thinking it for the next couple hundred years."

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"So. Hermione."

Hermione sighed, shoving her Ancient Runes work to the side. For some reason, she was having trouble concentrating. She looked up at Lavender and Parvati, somewhat grateful to have an excuse to forego homework for the evening, and also wary at their excited expressions. "So. Lavender. Parvati. Can I help you with something?"

"The question is, Hermione," Parvati interrupted, smiling deviously, "Can _we_ help _you_?" The two best friends shared a laugh, leaving Hermione feeling quite left out of the loop. There was something in their tone that made her feel apprehensive. Something was up, and it bothered her that she didn't know what it was.

"Unless you two have started taking Ancient Runes, I don't think you can." Collecting her books and drawing them toward her chest, Hermione stood as if to leave. However, the pair stood in front of her, blocking her exit and forcing her back down into her seat.

Lavender smiled. It was almost creepy, Hermione speculated, how large and shiny it was. No, not creepy…suspicious. There was definitely something going on, something involving her. "Herm, dear, you don't have to be shy with us. We already know."

"Yeah, we know _everything_, and really, we think it's wonderful! We only want to help you." Parvati finished the thought, putting a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I mean, it's not like we didn't see it coming."

"I think a blind man who lived in the States could have seen it coming." Lavender remarked, causing Parvati to giggle.

All of this silly girl talk was making Hermione's head hurt. "What are you two going on about? I have no idea what you know, and if I don't know, how can you know, you know?" exasperated, Hermione stood up and shoved through the two girls, ignoring their indignant cries. "I don't have time for this nonsense! I have homework and tests and papers and…Ancient Runes!"

"I don't think _Ron_ believes that it's nonsense, do you Parvati?" Lavender asked deliberately, her question directed toward the girl beside her but her eyes never leaving Hermione.

The studious bookworm could not help herself. She stopped in her tracks and turned, heaving a sigh as she rolled her eyes. "Alright, you two, out with it."

"You mean you don't know?" Parvati stated, bewildered. "Why, that's…incredible."

"Incredible, indeed! Why, it borders on preposterous!" Lavender agreed, "I would have suspected that you'd known all along, you being so clever and all."

Fed up with the entire conversation, Hermione had to check her temper before she burst. As much of a waste of time as she expected this exchange to be, she couldn't help but be intrigued, if only slightly. It was in her nature to be curious, and they had known what button to push when they'd mentioned Ron's name. "What, pray tell, are you two loons going on about!?"

"Ron likes you, Hermione." Supplied Parvati, gloating in the look of utter surprise that graced her bookish friend's features. "He likes you a lot."

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: This. Took. Forever.

And I am sorry for that, by the way.

For awhile, I just couldn't make myself work on it. I didn't know what I wanted to do, so I'd just stare at it, start something, delete it, start something, delete it…it was a vicious cycle. Then one day I arose to find I had inspiration! Motivation! All those good "tion" words that made me actually sit down in finish this fairly quickly.

Since my beta has…disappeared (Aria—where are you!?), this chapter is probably riddled with mistakes. I apologize.

Thanks go to—RissaMalfoy, friskytheotter, Nathonea, snugglywuggly, NitenGale, Ezmerelda, aku-neko, PrincessoftheDarkness, Karana Bell, Jessabel—for reviewing. See, if you review, you get a cool little shoutout, and then you feel awesome! So you should definitely review!!

My favorite movie is The Princess Bride. Greatest. Film. Ever. Anyway, I'm sorry this chapter was not as long. I tried to make it funnier than the last, though, as I thought I'd failed on that front with the previous chapter. Heh. If you don't really feel like reviewing, how about telling me your favorite song?

See you in Chapter 7!


	7. Deciphering the Truth

Clutching her Ancient Runes textbook (_Deciphering the Truth_ by Paul Wickleby), Hermione bit back a gasp. She took a deep, calming breath and spoke very slowly. "What?"

"Ron." Lavender supplied, looking devilishy over at the red head, sitting in a corner staring at his homework, bewildered. "He's stark raving mad about you."

"You must be mistaken." Hermione rationalized, feeling herself start to panic. To counteract, she took many more soothing breaths. She pretended not to notice that they were not helping.

Parvati shook her head. "Harry told us."

Falling into an open armchair, Hermione rested her head in her hands, commanding her eyes not to cry. "Oh, Merlin." The tears pushed against the back of her eyelids. It felt like such a silly thing to cry over, but she couldn't help it. It was very distressing news.

Lavender and Parvati, for their part, were shocked. What kind of girl reacted like this when they heard that a boy had a crush on them? The Hermione-type, they supposed, shaking their heads sadly. This hadn't been the expected reaction, but that did not mean the conversation was over.

"Cheer up, Herm." Parvati comforted, patting her shoulder, "If you don't feel the same then no one has to know."

"Yeah, that's right. We'll keep it a secret. Just us girls. …and Harry." Lavender added awkwardly, settling on the arm of the chair, looking down at Hermione with pity.

Suddenly, the tears were a little more easily dammed. "Harry did this. Sent you." She said monotonously, causing the two girls to shrink away. Sensing tension and predicting bad things would happen if she didn't stop her, Parvati piped up.

"He did it for Ron."

That caught Hermione's attention. "More like he did it to get Ron off his back! I know that boy better than either of you and—"

"Why do you always assume the worst in people, Hermione?" Lavender said, exasperated. "I mean, your friend tries to help you and Ron at the same time and you claim he has some ulterior motive. Why can't it be that he is just trying to do something nice for you?"

Lavender's speech not only stunned Hermione, but Parvati. Both of them stared at her blankly. The latter recovered more quickly, however, recognizing Lavender's little outburst to be very helpful to their case. Somehow, her best friend had found a way to make Hermione Granger speechless. And it was just such a moment that the two girls had needed.

"Hermione, level with us. Do you really think you can make us believe that you have never even though of Ron in…well, _that way_?" She continued before Hermione could gather her wits and actually answer the question, "I mean, come on. Having a boy as sweet and as nice as Ron Weasley as one of your best friends for the past six years, and you've never had one romantic thought including him?"

This seemed to make Hermione uncomfortable. Inwardly, Lavender and Parvati both did a dance of joy. "Well…" their bookish prey murmured, eyes towards the floor.

"See!" shrieked Lavender, rushing forth and seizing the book from Hermione's arms. "You don't need to hide behind textbooks, Hermione. You are going to have a boyfriend!" She dropped _Deciphering the Truth_ onto a nearby chair and took one of the girl's arms. Hermione could only stare at the tome longingly and wonder how, exactly, this whole situation had gotten so wildly out of control.

--

"So those ghosts who are Headless have many options open to them. The Neck-down Knights, the Headless Hunt," there Nick's voice dropped sadly, "oh, and of course the No-Head Nasties, for those who turn poltergeist."

Draco was bored. So bored that if he could have cried, he would have. Unfortunately, all he could was float. And any fascination he'd felt at that had worn off week's ago. "What about the ghosts that are _nearly_ headless?" he asked, knowing that he would probably hit a sensitive chord and not caring a bit. Really, he reasoned, it was the old ghoul's own fault for being so bloody boring!

Nick only glared at his younger counterpart. "Our guild is still in the beginning stages of planning." He answered haughtily.

"Which means that it's never going to happen." Draco shot back. He realized he was being patronizing, but he was thoroughly annoyed with the entire situation. He'd had to learn the great ghosts and where they haunted, how to pick your own haunting area, what to do if another ghost already occupied it or also expressed an interest in haunting it. He had to wonder, were these things really pertinent? He was going to be haunting Hogwarts, not stalking about the earth in hopes of causing some people he didn't know misery.

He had enough misery to give right where he was. He even had a hit list. Starting with Hagrid and with no foreseeable end in sight.

"Really, Mr. Malfoy, if you're going to be rude then these sessions have absolutely no purpose. I did not come here to be insulted." He huffed, turning to float through the door.

Cursing softly to himself, Draco realized he would have to apologize. There was simply no way around it. If he wanted to win Hermione back, he'd simply have to suck it up and get through these boring lessons.

"I apologize, Sir Nicholas. I was out of line." He said, his tone monotonous. Nick noticed, but pretended not to.

"Thank you," he answered, before saying, "Now to continue, the guilds for those poltergeists with heads include…"

Draco tuned him out. It was going to be a long night.

--

Had he been paying attention, Ron Weasley probably would have noticed his Astronomy homework was not going well. Harry had commandered Hermione's book and was hurriedly trying to finish their project solo; Ron had offered to help, but was told that he'd be as much help as a fifty-ton weight. So, instead, he'd decided to start the small assignment they'd received in class that day.

However, instead of completing the problems, he was busily doodling pictures of stars all over his paper. He was doing it without thinking; his mind was elsewhere.

Since Harry had illuminated to him the fact that he had feelings for Hermione, he found that she was all he could think about. It'd barely been but a few hours, and already it was interfering with his homework. He could barely see her from the corner of his eye, talking to Lavender and Parvati. Oh, how he wanted to go over and talk to her, ask her about the past week he'd missed, about what had happened with Malfoy.

More than anything, he wanted to forget about what she'd said about Malfoy. He didn't want to be protective and angry. He didn't want to long to rescue her, or defend her honor. But he did, and horribly so. _If only_, he lamented, _if only I knew what he'd done_...

She'd told him she was capable of handling the situation by herself, but it was difficult for him to let her do that. Why should she have to face someone as venomous and two-faced as Malfoy alone? He tapped his quill against the parchment over and over, fighting the urge to meddle.

_It's none of my business_, he repeated to himself, _None of my business whatsoever. No matter how much I wish it was_...

--

"You know what we should do, Par?" squealed Lavender, eyes wide in excitement as turned to her partner in crime, "Oh, it's brilliant!"

"What is it, Lav? What should we do?" asked an equally hyperactive Parvati, looking back toward Hermione and nodding, as if encouraging her to be excited, too.

Hermione seemed immune to this very contagious energy. "Really, girls, I don't want you guys to do anything for me..."

"Nonsense!" interrupted Lavender, "I know just what you need!"

A groan escaped Hermione's lips.

"A makeover!"

Another groan escaped Hermione's lips.

It was just a fact; Hermione did not like makeup. And, to be fair, makeup didn't really take to Hermione. She'd never found a combination that really enhanced her features in that special way that makeup was supposed to. Everything she'd tried to apply to her face ended up making her look like a raccoon, or some other equally unflattering comparison. It was an unfortunate fact that Hermione would never be one of those who magically turned pretty once the other girls taught her how to put on cosmetics and straighten her hair. The Hollywood ending just was not for her.

And it was not for lack of trying on either part of Lavender or Parvati, either. The girls had whipped out their supply of eyeshadows, blushes, lipsticks. They'd experimented with shades. They'd flip-flopped between a liquid and a powder. They'd applied it magically and manually. Nothing helped. Of course, Hermione didn't look _bad_ (they could never accept such a defeat!). She just didn't look much different.

After two long, tortuous hours of putting on and taking off different kinds of goop that was probably going to clog her pores (yet another bad thing to add to the list of bad things that had happened to her recently), Hermione managed to escape the two overly-eager girls and slip back into the Common Room. Most people had gone to bed, but a few stragglers were still awake. A handful were reading by the fire, some curled up with a friend and having a late night chat. In the same corner she'd last seen him in, Ron was still adding stars to his Astronomy assignment.

Noting his absent look, Hermione was able to guess how much he'd accomplished since she'd last seen him: nothing. Seeing a way to the mend the wounds between them, she made her way across the room and pulled up a chair. It didn't occur to her until she was sitting down how awkward she felt; the boy across the table had a crush on her. She suddenly regretted her decision to not head straight to bed.

He looked up, dazed, as she sat. Once he snapped out of his reverie, he smiled warmly. "Hey."

She smiled back, but felt strange about doing it. Noticing his star-drenched assignment, she let out a small chuckle. "Finished a lot, I see."

He looked down at his paper as if seeing it for the first time, and then looked back at her, horrified. "Oh, Merlin!" he swore, "This is due tomorrow!"

"I'll help you, if you like." she offered, trying not to feel so uncomfortable. She had helped Ron with assignments plenty of times, so why did this feel so different?

He shifted in his seat, a sign that he, too, was feeling the tension. "Would you? Oh, that would be great." he moved the textbook so that it was in the middle, where they could both read it easily.

"Oh, Ron." she muttered, reading over a passage in the textbook and then glancing back at the questions on the page, "I don't even know if I can save this. You may have mucked it up too much..."

For some reason, Ron suddenly felt as though she was talking about more than his Astronomy homework. He felt like it also applied to their friendship; he'd apologized, they'd made up, and yet it still felt incredibly awkward. It pained him inside to think he may have hurt her badly enough to where they weren't as close as before.

"Hey, Hermione?" he said, covering the parchment with his hand and moving it out of the way. "Did I do something wrong again?"

"N-no..." she stammered, wondering why she felt so _nervous_.

Ron looked away, rather sadly. "You just seem so...fidgety. Like you don't really want to be around me. If you're still mad, you don't have to talk to me..."

She shook her head enthusiastically, brown hair flying everywhere. "Oh, no! Ron, I'm not mad at all." she stopped, quickly pondering how to approach the next subject, "I...just had a bad night. Lavender and Parvati got their claws in me and wouldn't let me go."

"Those two ninnies." Ron laughed, accepting her explanation without further questioning, "What do they know?"

Somehow, this comforted Hermione. "Yeah, what do they know?"

--

Meanwhile, Draco had just managed to escape the metaphorical grasp of Nearly Headless Nick, and was floating away from their meeting spot outside the Room of Requirement at full speed. Never in his afterlife had he been made to suffer through a more boring night. And he had lived in a broom closet for a week, for Merlin's sake!

He had to admit, however, that a few (a very select few) things he had learned had been genuinely helpful. It was nice to know that he'd be able to join a guild with people of his own sort, though he seriously doubted that there were too many people who'd been eaten by magical giant squids. And Nick had said that they might skip a few lessons ahead and let him start haunting, if he watched his tongue. Next week, he reasoned, he would have to take the initiative to be pleasant with the old fool.

On his way back to his broom closet (he'd really grown quite fond of it), he made sure to float through as many classrooms, empty because of the time of night, as possible. He didn't want to go back to the main staircase, or travel any of the commonly used corridors, for fear that his parents were still lurking about. Once was enough to go through that situation.

He took in the settings of the classrooms as he flew through them, watching as he saw the Transfiguration room, and then Charms...it made him sad, to see his usual seat and know that he'd never attend another class, or graduate, or do anything his other classmates would do. He had a sudden urge to see his old room, to float around the Common Room, to talk to his former house members. Using his new favorite trick, he sank down in the room below him through the floor.

Still not used to this new form of traveling, he felt a be disoriented once he made his way into this new room, but felt much more comfortable when he realized he'd ended up in Potions. This place was somewhere familiar, comforting. He remembered so many wonderful happenings. That time Longbottom had blown up his potion, that time Potter and Weasley had gotten yelled at...that other time Longbottom had blown up his potion. He smiled. _Oh the memories_...

He lingered for a moment, casting a glance around the dusty old chamber before noticing that he was not quite so alone as he'd previously assumed. In fact, Snape, his former favorite professor and Head of House, was staring at him with quite an astonished look on his face.

Draco smiled as best he could, but managed more of a grimace than anything. "Erm...hello, Professor."

Snape seemed to be a bit taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Mr. Malfoy. I'm glad we ran into each other."

"Yes." stated Draco blankly. He was quite at a loss as to what he ought to say; why was it that everyone he'd once known well now seemed quite uncomfortable around him, and he around them?

Snape motioned for him to come forward and look at a paper that he had in his hands. He turned it so that it faced Draco, who stared at it and then inwardly groaned.

_Ghost Lessons with the Bloody Baron at 7 PM on Mondays_

"As you'll soon find out, it's imperative to learn the rules, codes, guilds, and techniques of being a proper ghost. I took it upon myself to schedule a time for you to learn them." Snape cleared his throat, "You'll report to see the Bloody Baron at—"

"Question!" intrerrupted Draco, who ignored the ruffled look he received, "How does everyone else know about ghost lessons? I've never heard of such a thing, and I'm the actual ghost, here!"

Snape gave him a look usual reserved for Gryffindors. It made Draco understand their dislike of him. "You were supposed to have learned it in History of Magic in second year. Perhaps if you had paid attention, Mr. Malfoy, this transition would have gone much more smoothly."

"Yes, right then." he stammered, feeling quite out of sorts. He was not used to being treated so rudely by Snape. After all, it's not as though he were Harry bloody Potter! Collecting himself, he went on with what he had to say. "And thank you, Professor, for contacting the Baron for me, but please let him know that I'm already being tutored on those sorts of things and therefore his lessons will be unnecessary."

He cringed as he realized he was on the receiving end of a very harsh glare.

"What?" spat Snape, very offended, "And who, pray tell, are you receiving these lessons from?"

Shame overwhelmed Draco; he wished more than anything that Hermione had had the presence of mind to not elect her own house ghost as teacher, but rather his. Snape was not going to take this very well.

"NearlyheadlessNick." he rushed through the name, somehow thinking it might be less painful if he got it out faster. The look on Snape's face, however, proved him wrong.

"You went to the Gryffindor ghost?" he snapped, "Why in the name of Merlin would you do that?"

Before he could stop himself, the words came out. "Well, I didn't arrange it for myself!"

"Then who, may I ask, did?" the deadly calm of Snape's voice sent shivers down Draco's spine, or rather, would have, had he been alive.

"That's not really important." Draco was desperately trying to cover his mistake, avoid the answer at all costs, "What's important is that...I need to go."

Then, putting his new trick into action once more, he flew straight up and through the ceiling, trying to block out Snape's angry shout as it followed him.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: The first 939 words of this story have been written for over a year. For awhile, I was pretty sure I'd never be able to finish this chapter, and thus the story. I know I've complained about Writers Block, but believe me...I get it _bad._ However, last night I felt the urge to write, only to find that my dad had taken our laptop (which I usually do all my writing on) with him on business. So I turned to our other computer, opened up a few old files, and found myself typing up a storm.

Will I finish this? I don't know. I really would like to. But I am really lacking in the free-time department. The only time I have to myself is late at night, and I usually prefer to use that for sleeping. I've got two jobs and I'll be a freshmen in college in a month. I am pretty determined to get this done, but I will warn you now: updates will most likely be like this. Sporadic. I won't touch it for awhile and then—poof! A chapter. It's not what I'd prefer, but it's what I can do. Hopefully, that's alright with everyone.

In other news, please always tip your waitress 15 (if you can only afford to give $1.50 on a $45 check, then don't eat out, please!), and my favorite song is "Crocodile Rock" by Elton John. And if you don't feel like reviewing, why don't you tell me your favorite TV show?

Thank you's go to everyone who reviewed and who has patiently waited for this chapter!

See you in Chapter 8—hopefully sooner rather than later!


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